A Collection of Gift Ficlets
by The Dancing Dove
Summary: This is a collection of ficlets written by the members of The Dancing Dove, a Tamora Pierce fansite, as holidays gifts to one another. They span all of Tammy's series, and range in subject from romance to adventure. Enjoy - the rating is just in case...
1. Welcome Message

**Welcome to the first annual Dancing Dove Holiday Gift Exchange Collection!**

We at The Dancing Dove, an EZ Board community of Tamora Pierce fans from across the globe, decided to usher in the New Year with a gift exchange of fanfics. Anyone interested submitted what _they_ wanted to read in a fic, and then received the name of another participant. They then had three weeks to write their Secret Santa fic – and here they are, for your enjoyment. 

The following is a summary of the fics posted elsewhere on ff.n:

**"Thinking Clearly" (ID 1665267)**, written by **Candice Velasco** (known on the Dove as Candice the Great), for Starchild524. She requested a projection of Sarralyn; this fic tells of Daine and Numair's reflections at their daughter's cradle.  
  


**"Unmarried, Unattached, Single: Transitional and Temporary Names For Those Who Consider Themselves "Bachelors" at Court." (ID 1671382)**, written by **Avelon Emerin** for AlmightChrissey (known on the Dove as CreamoftheCake). She requested a fic about Gary at the end of Song of the Lioness and start of the Immortals. This fic tells about Gary as he realizes his time as a bachelor is short-lived as the grim prospect of marriage rears its ugly head.  
  


**"Holiday Fic Challenge for Daphne Apollo" (ID 1658129) **written by **Starchild524** for Skyflier (known on the Dove as Daphne Apollo). She requested a Daine/Numair UST fic, set during Realm of the Gods. This fic tell about Numair, as he struggles with his unspoken feelings for Daine.


	2. Fire

**Fire** by Chris F

WARNING: Slash 

For Seereth, who requested anything slashy

~*~*~*~

It's official- I hate him.  I hate Alex and that stupid smile he has whenever he's around Duke Roger.  I hate his eagerness to do whatever the Duke asks.  Eager?  Alex is not supposed to be eager.  He is supposed to be dark and quiet and sober and...and...

And mine.  

Alex is supposed to be MINE, he has been since we were pages, quiet and scared under the covers after lights-out.  I placed my mark on him and was in turn branded as his.  He belonged to me, and I to him, until he became Duke Roger's squire and I was cast aside. 

It wasn't even that he didn't have time for me anymore.  That I could have understood and accepted.  I could have gotten used to only seeing him during free time or if we were both allowed by our knightmasters to go into the city.  It wasn't just that though.  He actually left me.  He told me that he could not be with me anymore and then walked away, leaving me alone.  It was abrupt, it made no sense, and I hate it.  

It's just not fair.  Duke Roger could have anyone he wants.  He's attractive enough, he has money and power.  Why did he have to take my best friend, the person I love?  What did I do to deserve losing Alex, what did HE do to deserve gaining him?  I want to scream every time I see the Duke.  I'm starting to think that Alan is right in avoiding him.  Maybe he really isn't any good.  

Gods, if someone could hear me now.  I'm doubting a royal duke, all because of a relationship I shouldn't have had in the first place.  I'm letting my emotions rule over my reason, exactly what everyone is always accusing me of doing.  What would my father say?  

Maybe it's for the best, then.  Maybe it's better that we're apart now because it would only lead to trouble if we stayed together.  Trouble for the both of us.  Men, noblemen, just can't behave that way.  I'm...my father doesn't need that kind of scandal attached to the Naxen family name if someone found out, and Alex...it would kill me if he was ruined like that.  I could never take it. 

I asked him to meet me here, away where no one can see us, so we can talk privately.  I just want to know why, what I did to lose my best friend, why I wasn't good enough for him.  I want answers so that when I'm alone at night, at least I'll understand.  At least I'll know either that it was my fault or that there was nothing I could do.

 Finally, he shows up.  His eyes dart back and forth as he walks up to me.  "We shouldn't be here, you know."  

I shrug.  "Never stopped us before." 

"Yes, well.  That was before."  He pauses for a moment.  "Gary, please don't look at me like that." 

I raise an eyebrow.  "Like what?  Like someone whose best friend decided that he wasn't good enough anymore?  I think I have every right to look at you like that." 

Alex sighs.  "It's not that you aren't good enough.  Please believe that."  

"Why then?"  I ask.  "Why then aren't you with me anymore?"

Alex looks down, seeming smaller than he already is.  "It's complicated.  Gary, you're...I love you.  I do, really..." 

"Then why?"  I hiss through clenched teeth.  "Just tell me why." 

Now Alex's eyes meet mine, and there is a fire behind them.  "Because I love him." 

I'm almost physically knocked back.  "You didn't love me?"

The fire softens, almost goes away.  "Of course I did!  I still do, it's just...not the same."  

"What do you mean?"  I still don't understand.  How can it be not the same?  What we did with each other....if not the kind of love he's talking about, then what?  

He shakes his head.  "I can't explain it.  It just feels different with him."  He reaches out to touch my hand.  "I'm sorry." 

"I know."  It's automatic. 

"You're still my best friend."  

"I know."  It's weak comfort, but I'll take it.  "Alex?" 

He walks closer to me, and I can't help but hold him, relishing how perfectly his body fits to mine one last time.  "Yes?" 

I take a deep breath.  "Does he feel the same?  Does he love you like that?"  

Alex looks up at me, and again I see that fire.  "Yes, he loves me.  Completely."  

I let go of him, partially because I think if I hold him any longer my heart will break, partly because I don't want to be near those flames anymore.  "Good.  You deserve it."  I can accept this.  If he loves Roger and Roger loves him, I will learn to deal with this, I will try to understand that this is how it must be. 

He smiles.  "Thanks." 

Alex walks away from me, and I try so hard to be happy for him, but every time I think of that fire, I get chills.  It was a fire that looked like it would consume anything it touched, one that burned hotter than all reason.  It was out of place in Alex's eyes.  He had always been cool, rational, and that burning was so unfamiliar. 

It takes years for it to finally hit me.  

Alex has dark eyes.  The fire, far from dark, was a bright orange.  

And suddenly, everything stops making sense again.


	3. Goodnight, My Love

**Goodnight, My Love **by Daphne Apollo

_For every hero, there is a heroine. For every heroine, there is a mother. Alanna's reflects as she gives birth to the greatest shero of them all._

For Lady Polekat, who requested a fic about Alanna's mother  
  


~*~*~*~

It hurt. 

It hurt _so_ much. 

Amid her sharp cries and helpless whimpers, she drifted in and out of consciousness, remembering… 

~*~

Bang-rattle, bang-rattle. 

"Sibyl," said her mother. "Sibyl." 

"Yes, Mother." 

"Ever since you came back from the convent, you've been so _quiet._ It's not right for a girl your age." 

"Yes, Mother." 

"Well, I hope you'll show some spirit once we reach Court." 

"Yes, Mother." 

Bang-rattle, bang-rattle. 

The carriage trundled on. 

~*~

"My lady, you have a beautiful baby boy…" 

~*~

The banquet hall was illuminated by hundreds of candles. People laughed and chatted all around her while she picked at her meal. 

A nervous, gawky squire spilled wine on her dress. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" 

He looked as jumpy as she felt, so she smiled and murmured forgiveness. 

"Alan!" snapped someone, and Alan hurried away. 

~*~ 

"Sibyl, Sibyl, he's beautiful. Sibyl, talk to me…" 

Then, like a sigh, "Alan…" 

~*~

Silence. 

Then there was a terrific clang, and Alan stumbled from the Chamber, clothes stained and torn, half-hysterical. His knight-master put a cloak round his shoulders and Alan clutched it to him, knuckles white with terror. 

"My lord," she heard him mutter. 

His knight-master hushed him gently and led him through the Chapel. As he passed through the great doors, Alan glanced back over his shoulder. She smiled at him, a tentative smile, her face still drawn with the worry of the last few hours. Alan grinned back, sudden and did more to relieve her than anything else that day. 

~*~

"Just a little more, my lady, I can see the head…" 

Soothing murmurs from Alan. 

"Ah!" 

~*~

"I pledge myself before the Goddess to love you, to protect you…" 

She heard little of the ceremony. Looking down at their intertwined hands, she squeezed Alan's and felt their answering pressure, warm and firm. 

If there was one moment, she thought, one moment I could keep forever… 

~*~

"It's a girl, my lady!" 

She reached out to touch the child, but the healer jerked her out of the way, swathing the baby in cloth, before placing it carefully in her arms. 

"Oh – oh…" 

The baby blinked sleepily up at her and she caught a glimpse of deep purple eyes – Alan's eyes. 

"She's so lovely," she whispered to her husband. 

"They're both wonderful," he told her, leaning forward so she could see the slumbering boy in his grasp. 

"I love you," she said softly. 

"I love you, too." 

He kissed her cheek. 

"They get their beauty from you." 

She smiled up at him. 

"Quiet, now, she needs her rest," scolded the healer. 

"I'm a terrible person," murmured Alan in her ear. 

"I love you anyway." 

"I know." 

He laughed and got up from the bed. 

"Goodnight, my love." 

"Goodnight." 

Sibyl gave her child to the healer and lay back among her pillows. 

_Rest, she thought contentedly, as she drifted off to sleep._


	4. Of Names and Bad Aim

**Of Names and Bad Aim **by Kitty Ryan (ID 28858)

For Laura (AmazonDreamer, ID 488465) who requested non-romantic Numair/Onua interaction, set before either of them had anything to do with the palace, and those of importance within it. 

~*~*~*~

Small children wailed. Big ones cursed, spit flying. The juggler retrieved his ball. 

"I'm sure there won't be _too much bruising."_

More wails, more spit. The juggler put a hand to his cheek, stepping away from the crowd. He was a tall man in a short coat, wearing boots with soles thin enough to feel the cobblestones beneath them. A disgustingly self-satisfied looking street vendor was cooking something make with onions that he could smell constantly but never afford, and one of the rapidly decreasing circle of urchins around him seemed to be pissing in the street. The air was hot and humid. It was not his day. 

"Hey, mister!"  A particularly malevolent looking youth with a gap in his teeth, terrible ears and straw-yellow hair glowered up at him. "You gonna pay so my brother can see t'healer, then? You broke his face, you did!" 

"Yeah, you broke it!"

"Broke it bad--"

"--Smashed it--"

"--Stupid man!"

"Eejit--"

"--Bloody…um…wha'sat ugly bird? One wif…them long leg things--?"

"--A _stork_, twit."

"Oh, right. Well, Mister. Ye're a bloody _storkI_

"--Me gran juggles them balls better'n yez!" 

The juggler backed away, hands raised. The children were encircling him, glaring. "I…he's barely hurt at all!" he said, finding himself in a corner.

"You hurt, Titch?" The gap-toothed ringleader put a skinny arm around his brother, squeezing him far too tight. 

Titch whimpered. His brother pinched him. "You _hurt, Titch?" _

"…'es." 

Another pinch, harder. "And you was hurt by the _man, right, Titch?"_

"…'_ES_!" 

"See?"  A small, hard finger made its presence felt in the juggler's midsection. It managed to stain his shirt. "You gonna hafteh _pay, now." _

It was, in one way, a comical sight. The hugely tall, dark-eyed man--who, by his tools and the faded sign next to him, was obviously meant to be an entertainer--being mobbed by a group of people who collectively went as high as his waist. People stopped to watch, mothers of some of the children shouted either warnings or well-used tips from the sidelines. A Provost's Guard lingered around the corner, but he didn't do anything. It wasn't his beat. A skinny girl, all dark sinew and grey-green eyes but little else, chose this moment to slip into the back streets, ignored by everyone. A dog followed, only whining once as they past the vendor. 

It was the juggler's move. 

He glared. "Enough is _enough." _

"Ooh!" A stocky woman, wearing layers of something that you just had to assume was dress fabric, cackled at him. "Actin' like a lord-y, now, ain't-ee just?"

The juggler could barely understand the woman's thick exclamation, but he didn't care. Slowly, he knelt before the unfortunate Titch, and cupped his cheek in a large hand. "You're perfectly fine, aren't you, lad?" he asked gently, fixing the child with an intense gaze. 

"Oi! Get them mitts off me brother."

The juggler didn't look at him. "Shut up." 

_No one told this boy to shut up. The crowd was impressed. _

"Hey…you dun tell _me--"_

"--Shut _up_, you little fiend. Now, Titch, does your face even hurt any more?" Black and white sparkles gathered around the juggler's hand. Titch giggled. 

"…'ickles!"  

 Looking at his hand, the juggler went dead white. The sparkles vanished. Eyes wide, he looked over the crowd, down street corners, past the girl with the dog, over chipped rooftops, as if he was waiting for someone to magically appear and jump him. People started to titter. 

Blinking, the juggler took his hand away from the young boy's face. He smiled--it was ghastly. "You've no need to see a healer, Titch," he said, standing, then giving a flourished bow. "So, unless you all want to stay and see more magic and mystery, from the great--"

There were jeers, and the juggler dropped his showman voice.  With an air of tired desperation, he threw the pathetic balls into the air. He caught one, two, and three….

No, not three. 

The third ball sailed past Titch, over the Guard's head, hit the dingy brick wall of a washerwoman's house, bounced off, and then landed. 

Heavily. On the skinny girl's shoulder. 

She cried out in surprise, and the crowd was scattered by several pounds of fast moving dog. 

The juggler looked up into long, yellowish canines, and saw death. He smelled it, too. 

The dog growled; the juggler whimpered. 

"Oh, _you_…"

It was a harsh voice, and a tired one. It belonged to the girl, who, the juggler thought as he saw her scowling, haggard face, should really be called a woman. 

"_Everyone _doesn't want to kill me, Tahoi," she said.   

"Oh, don't they?" muttered the juggler, shifting uncomfortably against the combination of cobbles and claws. "Wish _I _could say that."

Tahoi growled again, pressing down. 

The woman looked at them, and grinned. The grin was just as harsh as her voice. The juggler could see, now, that there were fading bruises on her face and neck. "Talking," she said, "is _not a good idea, right now." _

"I'm a mage, I'll have you know. I could--"

"--You see this dog?"

"--Of…--"

"--Don't answer. Of course you do. Well, you heard his name. Tahoi. It means--"

"--Ox."

The woman blinked. "What did you say?"

"Ox. Tahoi means 'ox' in a southeastern K'miri dialect. Of course, it also means 'big feasting table' in some of the more northerly regions, but, usually, it means 'ox'. Well done. You chose the perfect name."

There was an uncertainty in the woman's bearing now. "If you're trying to be smart…"

"I'm not smart, I'm educated. Get your fine example of pure mammalian strength off of me, please." 

Muttering curses, the woman clicked her fingers. Tahoi, with one last heavy lean on the juggler's chest, just because he could, walked off him, nose and tail high and disdainful in the air.  

The juggler, thus released, sat. "Protective of you, your ox," he wheezed, picking folornly at his shirt, which now had a rather large scratch on it. It would require _darning. He _hated _darning. And it would be even more painfully ugly then it was already. _

Brushing ragged hair out of her eyes, the woman kept her face impassive. "He saved my life." 

"Aah. I see." The juggler stood. "Thank you for not ordering Tahoi to rip my throat out."

A smirk. "Might still do that. You're accent is _terrible." _

"You should have heard the rest of my class."

The woman backed away, suspicious. "What's any 'educated' person doing, pretending to juggle?" 

Looking at the balls around his feet, the juggler shrugged. "What's a K'miri woman doing in a _city?"_

"Nothing she wants. Anyway, it's none of your business."

"I know, but you look so tired I just had to ask." 

The woman sneered. 

The juggler looked closely at her face, despite the expression on it. When he closed his eyes, faint glimmerings of copper threads danced across his vision.

The woman tensed. So did Tahoi. "Hey! What are you doing?"  

"You don't...happen to like horses, do you?" 

"I might. Stop asking so many questions." 

The juggler grinned. "I like questions. Do you have a place to stay?"

"I _said_, no more…eh?"

"You don't, I can see that." 

The heat was a wet blanket over the city. All the children had vanished, to find some other form of entertainment. The heavy, lingering smell of urine hung in the air. It was not a good day, and the juggler was looking kindly at the woman, in a way she found most infuriating. 

"I don't want your pity." 

"You haven't got it."

"But you're offering me a roof." 

"Yes."

"You're mad. I can't pay." 

"I don't pay, myself. I live with a mad artist. I don't annoy him, he won't annoy me."  

"Why are you doing this?" 

"Because…" the juggler paused for a moment. "Because I can. That's enough." 

The woman reached into a pouch at her waist, drawing out a tiny pinch of something. "Say that again." 

"Because I can. You know, I _know you're eyebright-ing me." _

"Hmph. Well, you're not lying, and, if you were a lecher, Tahoi would know. He will also know the second you _become one, if you do. He _really _hates lechers."_

The juggler raised his eyebrows. "Paranoid, my dear?"

He was flat on the ground in an instant, Tahoi back in his face again. 

"My name's Onua. I'm no one's dear."

"Hmm…Onua. Another K'mir word, meaning: 'wide awake and full of life'."

Onua snorted. "Are all educated men so annoying?" 

"Oh, they're far worse. I'm just Numair Salmalìn."

A laugh. "I can tell you what _that means."_

"You can? Mithros! It's got roots in five language families, plus Old Thak…."

Onua Chamtong looked down at the stained, thin, bedraggled man with the long nose and soft voice, lying sprawled in the street and so easily cowed by her dog. "Does 'delusions of grandeur' come close?"     

_Fin_


	5. Gifts of Warmth

**Gifts of Warmth **by Quatre-sama (AKA Lady Queenscove)

A/N: This fic is dedicated to Slone of Snow Mt., who requested an Alanna/Jon fic (with no mention of George whatsoever). I apologize for the lack of smut--I wanted it to be a bit more, er, gritty.   Happy Holidays, Slone! ^_^

~*~

Jonathan had stayed day and night by his mother's side, waiting for some appearance of change in her condition.  Her fever remained, high enough to make Duke Baird worry—low enough to lengthen the Queen's suffering, rather than swiftly taking her life.

"Jonathan," the duke said kindly, "you need not sit here night after night.  You are tired.  Certainly Lianne would rather see a fresh face when she wakes in the morning—not a pale shadow of a man."  He patted the prince comfortingly and gently pushed him out of the room.

Jon sighed.  Baird was right.  While worrying was natural, it certainly wasn't helpful to ruin himself over it.  He needed rest.  He needed comfort.

His room was silent, and empty.  _She's probably taken to sleeping in her own bed, since I'm rarely around, he realized.  Since May he had shared his bed with Alanna.  It looked large and unsettling without her.  He crossed to the door separating their rooms and knocked softly.  There was no answer._

He didn't like the idea of going into her quarters without her permission.  It wasn't a fear of seeing her with another man—he knew that was out of the question.  And there was no longer any hesitation to walk in on her dressing or bathing.  It was more a matter of her privacy.  Alanna had always been a very private person, and she trusted him not to infringe upon that right.  

Still…

_She's certainly asleep,_ he thought.  _If she were awake, she'd certainly let me in.  So why should I not go in now?  He shook his head and laughed silently.  They had been lovers for months—nearly half a year—there was certainly no question as to whether or not he was welcome in her room.  He went in._

She was sleeping peacefully, a softer expression on her face than he had ever seen before.  Faithful was curled up beside her on the pillow, and blinked twice as Jon approached.

_I wouldn't wake her if I were you, _the cat meowed softly.  _This is the best sleep she's had in weeks._  He stood and stretched, then padded off into Jon's vacant room.

"Have you been sleeping poorly?" Jon murmured, brushing wisps of red hair off Alanna's cheek.  "You've been worried, haven't you?"

Her bed was half the size of his, but he couldn't imagine sleeping anywhere else.  He undressed quickly and slid under the covers with her, wrapping himself around her tightly.  It was as much a spatial concern as an emotional necessity.

"Cold feet," she murmured with a frown.  Yet she clung to him.  He could feel her Gift transferring from her fingers to his chest, then working its way down to his frigid toes. 

"Better now?" he asked.  He used his own Gift to fill the clay bricks with heat.  Alanna couldn't survive from October to March without bricks banked around her bed, keeping her warm.

She nodded sleepily.  

"When I am king, I'll move the capital to Persopolis, if it means you will be happy," he whispered.  "Would you like a sunny life of sand and wind?"

Again she nodded, this time her lips forming a gentle smile.  "But I would miss the changing leaves, and the mountains of Trebond."  Her eyes opened finally, revealing the shade of purple that never ceased to amaze Jon.  

"You aren't so easily satisfied, are you?" he smirked.

She grinned back at him. "Coram always says that you wouldn't recognize me as Trebond unless I was being difficult."

"As accurate as that is," Jon whispered, his eyes burning into hers, "I'd rather not think about Coram when I'm alone in bed with you."  He kissed her thoroughly, and she responded in kind.  

"I've missed you," she murmured when they finally broke apart.

"Me too."  His voice was gruff, and barely recognizable to his own ears.  He caressed her shoulders, relearning the feel of her body.  It had been far too long since they had last been together.  Her soft noises and the way she pressed against him were an affirmation of his sentiments.

"How is the queen?" Alanna asked softly, fully awake now.  She ran her fingers through his hair as his expression darkened.

"Not well.   I should be with her."  He felt guilty for leaving her.  But he needed Alanna.

"You have a headache," Alanna said, rather than asked.  Jon was bewildered by her healing Gift, but never let her know.  He was able to conjure spells she had not even begun to think about, but she could recognize his pain, and heal it.

He nodded, and felt her Gift—cool, this time—ease into his throbbing skull.  Her fingers massaged his temples slowly, remnants of magic tingling against his skin.  

"If you keep furrowing your eyebrows like that, you'll have a headache again in no time," she chided.  As grateful as Jon was for Healer Alanna, he didn't like being treated like a young boy.  He brushed her fingers away and returned to his goal—to have _his hands on __her._

Their lovemaking was passionate, and still it wasn't enough for Jon.  "I need you," he whispered into the darkness, holding her tightly in his arms.  She nuzzled against his neck, saying nothing.  He understood—she needed him, too.  But Alanna would never say something like that, and right now he needed to hear it.

He pinned her under him and kissed her fiercely.  He tried to convey all of his pent-up passion, everything that had been boiling beneath the surface since their separation, since their first night together, since he first realized that he loved her.  He wanted to let her know he loved her without frightening her off, since the proper words were not permissible in her presence.

Her fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.  Her breath was ragged against him.  "I've missed this," she panted.  Her eyes were wet—tears of happiness or frustration?  "Are you here all night?"  

He nodded, feeling his heart constrict.  He'd been thinking of only himself and his family—of course Alanna would be miserable with worry.  She always worried about him, even when there was little wrong.  He closed his eyes, guilt washing over him.  

"Alanna, I have to tell you that I—"  

She cut him off, placing her fingers over his lips.  "Don't say it, Jon," she whispered.  "Just don't say it."  Her eyes revealed deep fear that he hadn't known she was capable of feeling.  Alanna was one of the most courageous people—if not the _most courageous person— he knew.  Was she that afraid of love?  _

He studied her carefully.  She refused to meet his eyes, burrowing into his shoulder.  Her entire body shook against him.  Was she afraid of love, or was she afraid of not being loved in return?  

Jon shook his head, a wry smile on his face.  Only Alanna would confuse him like this. He kissed the top of her head gently.  "Look at me," he commanded, lifting her chin gently; her eyes met his.  "You're freezing.  I can't give you warmth with my Gift, the way you can.  So pull it out of me."  He offered his hands to her.

"I could just use my own to warm up," she frowned.

"Just do it," he sighed.  He knew, whether she admitted it or not, that she was afraid of using her magic for anything but healing.  "It's not like the time you brought me back from the Sweating Sickness—nothing so complex.  Just take strands of my Gift and use it inside of you."

She laced her fingers through his and closed her eyes, and for a brief moment Jon could feel the strange but comfortable feeling of her magic inside him, wrapping around the threads of his own Gift.  He loved the intense feeling of her drawing it out of him and into her.  

He broke the connection with his Gift the moment it made contact with her body.  He watched in silence while Alanna dealt with it.  He nose was twitching as though it itched; he tweaked it gently.  

"Your magic isn't cooperating."  She frowned.  "It's like it won't stay in my arms, but it doesn't want to leave, either."

"Really?"  Jon feigned innocence.

She opened her eyes and searched his face.  "But it's so alive.  And it's not fading out, the way a warming spell would wither.  It's almost like—"  She cut herself off, confusion crossing her face.

"Yes," Jon agreed.  "That's exactly how I feel.  This… this _thing between us isn't withering.  And sometimes it's not cooperating.  But it's always going to be there, and I'm always going to need it."  He kissed her forehead.  "Always."  _

December 2003


	6. An Unlikely Pairing

**An Unlikely Pairing** by Lady Jen of Conté

For Kitty Ryan, who requested a Briar/Jarality ficlet

~*~

"Are we almost there?" the sixteen year old girl asked, bouncing with excitement. "We've been moving forever. Besides, I'm bored and hungry." 

"No Miss," the man said patiently, sighing. "We are not there yet." 

The girl looked deflated for a minute and shifted so that she was lying down. Her sister gently moved her head out of her way. "Jory, I'm trying to read," she chided her gently. 

Jorality Bancanor shrugged, eyes shining. "But I'm so excited. Imagine, we get to visit Daja! We haven't seen her in _four_ whole years!" 

Nia couldn't help the smile that spread to her lips. It _was_ exciting, and she couldn't really fault Jory for being Jory. 

Nia's thoughts were interrupted by Jory's exclamation of "Are we there _now_?" 

~*~

"Briar," Daja called for the third time, irritation slipping into her voice. "It's time to come in. My old students are coming any minute. They're already late. You've been pulling weeds for hours." 

"Fine," the eighteen year old said, getting to his feet and wiping his hands on his breeches. However, it didn't do any good since he'd been kneeling in dirt all morning and his knees were no cleaner than the rest of him. 

Sandry would've cried if she could've see how horrifically Briar's clothes had been messed up. It had gotten so that even her cleaning spells on the cloth could do nothing. However, Sandry wasn't there. She was in Summersea with her Great Uncle, helping him run things and preparing for when she would take the throne herself. 

Briar walked into Discipline, and quickly dashed his hands under water, more to please the girls than for anything else. He found a sugar bun in the cold box and began to eat it at the table, relaxing his stiff legs.

~*~ 

Jory bounced up and down on the steps of Discipline eagerly, knocking. Within a moment, the door opened and Daja was covered in hugs. Laughing, she invited them all in. Serg teetered in a minute later, carrying Jory's bags. 

After hugs all around, Jory surveyed the place. Discipline looked warm and comfortable. Not just in physicality, but just the atmosphere. She could see why Daja loved it so much. 

"Hey Daja, are they Jory and Nia?" a male voice interrupted, causing Jory to look towards the door. Jory's eyes looked over a tall boy with coarse-cut black hair and jade-green eyes. Eyes the color of her favorite jewels. He was filthy, but something about that made him even more interesting to her. 

Jory felt her cheeks warm as he looked at her and Nia in turn. "I'm Jory," she managed to say finally. "You must be Briar." He looked exactly like Daja's description of him, right down to the moving tattoo on his arm. "This is my sister Nia," she said finally, in order to draw attention away from her red face. 

Nia looked up from examining the wood on the stairs to greet Briar softly. In those few moments, she looked at her sister's face and saw all she needed to know; Jory was smitten. Nia prepared herself for an _extremely_ emotional visit. 

~*~ 

Briar and Jory hardly saw each other at all in the next three days. Briar was busy weeding and tending the rest of the garden, and the Bancanors spent most of their time with Daja. 

However, Daja was busy with a huge project that could be put off no longer and Nia had went to examine the trees in Winding Circle to determine wood quality. That left Briar and Jory alone in the kitchen. 

Jory had a hard time speaking normally around Briar, so she babbled endlessly about absolutely nothing. However, there was something she'd been dying to hear before she'd gotten here, since she'd first heard about it. 

"Will you whistle?" she asked.

Briar looked at her, confused. "What?" he asked.

"Whistle. Daja showed us, and she said she learned it from you. I want to hear you do it." 

Briar was quite confused, but he obliged with a piercing whistle. 

"Loud," Jory observed with a respectful nod. "Sounds like Viymese Potcracker directing her cooks. 

"I heard she's tough," Briar said, repeating what Daja had told him. 

Jory laughed and nodded. "She is, but she's great all the same. People just don't know her bark is worse than her bite." 

"I know just what you mean," Briar said. "That's just how it is with Rosethorn. She yells and screams, but underneath, she's amazing." 

The two reminisced about funny stories about their teachers, most of them involving death threats. Briar found himself strangely drawn to the enchanting girl, like a moth to a lamp. Jory liked Briar increasingly with each word, and felt her girlish admiration grow and shift into something else. Something she was entirely unfamiliar with. 

"So, you leave tomorrow?" Briar asked, feeling a strange mix of sorrow and regret. 

"Yes," she said softly, looking solemn. Then her eyes brightened with hope. "Viymese Potcracker wants me to get some practice with other cooks. I could ask her if I could spend some time here working with Gorse. That is, if you think that's a good idea." 

"I'd like that," Briar said simply, his eyes saying much more than his mere words. 


	7. Look and See

**Look and See by Seereth**

For Avelon Emerin, who requested some villain angst, preferably a villain that doesn't get a lot of spotlight.

~*~*~*~

"I am sending you to Tortall," the king informed her shortly. His eyes were far away, or perhaps he was just staring at the slave girl. Josiane didn't know and she didn't want to look to see. 

She'd gotten scolded the last time shed tried to look. It had been patiently explained the king did not appreciate competition.

"I do n-" she began, and changed her mind when his gaze focused. She did not like it when his eyes focused in on her. "Of course, father."

She saw the girl he'd been looking at as she left the room. Saw her, and made a note to point the girl out to mother.

Just because she didn't _want_ him to focus in on her, didn't mean he _shouldn't._

~*~

The ship was very fine – she knew, she'd seen it before leaving.

That was the only reason she knew, though. It was surprisingly hard to concentrate on the nearly-tasteful use of gilt paint, or the elegant carvings when you were retching day and night over the side of the ship and getting splinters of wood imbedded in your palms.

She'd brought her dog along, which turned out to be a mistake.

The first time he'd pawed at her dress – silk brocade, and worth more than his weight in gold – she'd kicked him. The second time she'd collected herself as well as she could and threw him overboard. 

The sailors had been quiet for a moment, staring at her, or at the small, madly paddling dog in the ocean. He passed out of sight, but they remained staring at the sea or at their princess, retching again, until the captain roared at them to get back to work.

"My lady," said one of her maids, a hesitant presence at her elbow.

"Leave me," she hissed. The woman did not move. "Leave me, unless you wish to end up like the dog." The sound of her feet running in the opposite direction was gratifying.

She thought the sailors looked but did not see. In that, they were much like her father.

~*~

Josiane suspected the prince – _Jonathan - saw her, but only as a princess. She did not wish to be seen that way. _

Or, she did not wish to _only_ be seen that way.

Lianne was, if possible, worse.

Still, she was good at hiding what she thought – good at hiding that she thought at _all_. There was no emotion in her eyes but admiration, no hint in her voice of her frustration, or of the seasickness that she still felt clawing at her belly.

_Would you care to dance?_

"I would love to," she told him, when she wanted nothing of the sort, and moved with the prince onto the floor.

Turning, she caught green eyes wide with speculation, gleaming chestnut hair. She felt a prickling at the pack of her neck, wondering if it was the young woman in emerald taffeta whose eyes followed her movements across the floor.

Wondered if the young woman saw her as a rival for the prince's affections.

_Why do they always see me wrongly?_

The looked, but did not see. Their eyes were beyond her.

Always…

~*~

"Princess Josiane," a woman said; a sweet soprano voice, purposefully young. Josiane did not need such illusions yet, and had she, would have been unable to successfully employ them. She turned, meeting the emerald eyes of one of the Tortallan ladies.

"Yes?" she asked the delicate brunette, her eyes flicked to the woman accompanying her – also brunette, but striking rather than pretty. Her eyes were soft brown, and she wore ruby red velvet and gold. 

"I am Delia of Eldorne," the delicate, green clad woman said, and added to her companion, "Cythera darling, I know you had an appointment, don't let me keep you." 

Cythera raised one eyebrow a fractional amount but curtsied to Josiane. "I hope our acquaintance will not remain so brief," she said. "But you must excuse me, Delia is right – I do have a rather pressing engagement." Her steps as she walked away were stronger than Josiane thought most women could get away with, but not unseemly. 

Delia looked at Josiane as the princess watched the taller woman leave them. Josiane did not wish to meet her eyes, did not want to know what she would see.

She looked anyway.

And saw…

…herself.

"Your highness?" Delia asked her, with frightening calm.

_You're a very good liar,_ Josiane thought. _Why are you so good?_ "What did you wish to speak with me about?"

"I think," Delia said delicately, and Josiane still only saw her reflection in the older woman's eyes, "it would be…wiser to discuss this in my own chambers." Josiane nodded, but Delia froze for a moment. Her sudden nod made no sense to Josiane, but she followed her anyway.

~*~

"Tea?" Delia asked her, hand hovering over cups and a steaming pot. 

 "No, thank you," Josiane murmured.

"Very well." Delia folded her hands in her lap, looking frankly at Josiane. "I wish to talk to you about J – about Prince Jonathan."

Josiane did not spit – she was too well brought up – but she knew her eyes betrayed her feelings. "I no longer have his favor," she said, very quietly, but only an idiot would mistake her tone for mild. "The court knows that. All of Tortall knows that."

Delia's smile was out of place in their conversation. Josiane did not lunge at her, though she wanted to. No doubt it would be explained.

"Would you like," Delia said – practically purring the words, "to make sure that would never happen again?"

Josiane was not known for indecision.

Delia smiled, and Josiane saw that Delia, at least, saw more of her than anyone did.

She liked to be seen.


	8. Holiday Gift for CityCam

**Holiday Gift for CityCam **by Sandrilene Fa Toren

For CityCam, who requested a Niko/Sandry fic

~*~*~*~ 

"Master Niklaren Goldeye to see His Grace," announced the servant as he threw open the door to the Duke's study.

"Thank you. Simeon," replied Vedris IV. "Please show him in."

His great-niece looked up eagerly from studying the finances of Emelan. Since Niko had returned from Tharios with Tris a few days ago, she had barely anytime to talk to him. She and her foster-siblings had been so happy to see each other again, that their days had been filled with excited chatter in enormous groups and talking over each other all the time. They accidentally intimidated the reticent Comas with the sudden bustle in the previously peaceful Discipline Cottage - and Tris positively scared him. They met new students and compared notes, fussed over Little Bear and Chime and spoiled Glaki thoroughly. There had been little chance to talk one on one with anybody.

The Circle had fallen into talking each other at night before falling asleep in order to stuff as much as they could into their waking hours. After two years of being in separate countries now, even though Sandry lived in the Citadel and Daja at the forges, it was a comfort to know the other three were but a thought away. It was not so easy to find time to talk to their teachers though.

As the mage entered, Sandry's smile grew. He looked like always: that neat, distinguished figure in well-cut clothes and with the calm expression of a man who had life tucked away and under control. He was like Lark in that way, there was nothing you felt he couldn't handle.

Sandry by comparison, surprised Niko each time he had seen her recently. He kept expecting to be greeted by a small girl with sun-kissed braids and plain cotton dresses. Now she was sixteen – a shapely young woman with her hair elegantly pinned around her head and wearing a heavy blue dress with rich silver brocade.

"Your Grace," he bowed. "Lady Sandrilene."

Sandry laughed as she stood up to take his hands and towed him to their table. "If you call me that, I shall have to address you as Master Goldeye."

He looked down on her brown curls and smiled widely, she was still small at least and still had scant regard for her title when amongst friends. 

The Duke poured another glass of water as Niko took his seat, then relaxed back in his own chair. "You look well Niko," he proclaimed. "Did you enjoy your travels?"

"They were certainly… educational," he replied wryly.

Sandry sat back down, content to listen as the men caught up. She had heard most of this already and her eyes darted from one to the other, taking in their conversation. For a few moments, her gaze lingered on Niko's features. Now that she examined him properly, she noticed the tiredness in his eyes. That his hair had greyed a little more and there were a few more creases in his forehead. She wondered if he would be remaining in Summersea for much longer. Tris no longer really needed a teacher, none of the four foster-siblings did, and Sandry knew that before they had entered his life he had never stayed so long in one place at the same time. She hoped fervently that he would not leave again so soon after they had got him back.

As the time passed and the discussion showed no signs of abating, Sandry excused herself. She had a lesson with Pasco and needed to get changed before she rode to Yazmin Hebet's dance school.

~*~

On returning to the Citadel, Sandry was stabling her horse when a figure entered.

"Niko!" she exclaimed. "Are you going back to Winding Circle?"

"Yes, I should return for dinner," the mage replied. "His Grace offered me a place with you tonight, but I am to be helping Glaki with her magic before she goes to bed tonight. Will you be joining us again later?"

She nodded and came out to him, closing the stall door behind her.

"We haven't had much time to talk since I returned, have we?"

"I had been thinking that myself," Sandry smiled. She went to sit down on a straw bale and patted the spot next to her. "Come talk to me now."

Niko obeyed after a short hesitation as he inspected his seat for any dirt likely to come off on his robes, then there was a brief, awkward silence as they both tried to decide what they wanted to talk about. Then they both spoke at once.

"How was it travelling home with Glaki?"

"Your uncle says he has arranged a marriage for you."

They both laughed and Sandry tapped his knee. "You first."

"Ah Glaki." Niko shook his head ruefully. "She is a charming child but in such close living conditions as we had on the boat back, I was reminded why I have never become a father." Sandry grinned. She could imagine Niko driving himself to distraction as he ran around after the young child.

"And you, Sandry? How are you feeling about this?"

The space between her eyebrows wrinkled for a moment, then smoothed over again almost as quickly. "I always knew what I must do," she replied composedly.

"Oh?" he asked simply.

Sandry looked up into the man's face and crumbled. This was Niko. He had saved her life. He had found her where it was dark and hidden and shown her how to bring light into her life again. He was her teacher, and he was her friend. She could trust him. She _should _trust him.

"I know it will be fine," she started. "My parents loved each other so much. Uncle loved his wife. But…" Her voice dropped to a shamed whisper. "I'm scared. I've only met Count Rymen twice and last time I was seven! What if I don't like him, Niko? What if I _can't _love him?" 

The tears started to flow silently and the man pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She smiled waterily as she noticed it was one of her own creations. Dabbing at her eyes, she continued.

"Sometimes I think I can't love anymore people," she explained haltingly. "There are so many already: Uncle obviously. Daja and Briar and Tris. Lark and Rosethorn and Frostpine. Even Pasco. And you of course," she concluded. There was a pause. "But I shall do my duty," she said firmly. The noble lifted her chin up and a characteristically stubborn look came to her face.

He had seen that look many times before. That firm set of the chin and her lips pressed together. It was usually at someone else's defence and contained the certainty that she was in the right and no one could stop her. Now though, under that resolution and strength, was a sense of forlornness that Sandry could not quite hide.

It was then that Niko kissed her. Leaning forward he pressed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. For a moment she was too surprised to do more than lift a hand automatically in protest. However, as he started to withdraw, that same hand cupped the back of his neck and pulled him close again so she could kiss him back. This time the kiss was firmer, deeper, more passionate and for a long moment they were caught in their embrace. Eventually their lips parted and a dull blush spread through Niko's face. It was an unfamiliar sight.

"I'm sorry, Sandry. I shouldn't have…" Before he could continue, she pressed a finger to his lips.

"Let's not talk," she implored and shifted around so she could lay her head on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.


	9. Like Mother, Like Son

**Like Mother, Like Son** by Hsui

_Alan of Pirate's Swoop and Kel meet for the first time as Alan is made a squire._

For LadyJenofConte, who requested a story about a character mentioned in canon but not in canon.

~*~*~*~

Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan fanned herself surreptitiously with her gloves in the balmy April heat.  Beside her, Sir Nealan of Queenscove shifted restlessly and - Kel thought - irritably.  

"Do we *have* to be here?" Neal muttered into her ear, taking care that his voice did not echo around the public room.

Kel elbowed her friend lightly in the ribs.  "Yes," she whispered back.  "Aren't you interested at all?"  

Neal rolled his eyes, clearly indicating a "no".  It didn't matter.  Keladry was interested enough for both of them.  This year's Big Examinations were of special importance to her, for the realm's second female knight-candidate, Inge of Heathercove, was sitting the examinations to become a squire.  Though Inge had come to the Palace while Kel herself had been serving as a squire, because Kel was so often away on Border Patrol they had not had the chance to meet.  Now, as a full knight and newly returned from the Scanran border, Kel was eager to see what Inge, her successor - as Kel privately indulged in calling Inge - was capable of.

Neal had been brought along largely against his will.

"That's her," Kel's reluctant companion said suddenly.  Kel had been too shy to come to the Big Examinations alone, though they were open to the public and largely anonymous.  For all Neal complained, Kel was glad to have him with her.  Now the Lady Knight peered over the tops of other courtiers' heads - being tall was good for something, at least! - for her first glimpse of Inge of Heathercove as the girl recited on the Immortals War.

Keladry was disappointed.  Inge was sturdy enough, with fair hair and a tall, solid frame, but her answers to Turomot the Exam Master were dutiful and straight out of the classroom.  She held herself diffidently, hands clasped demurely in front of her waist.  Kel hated to admit it, and she put on her best Yamani face to hide it, but Inge was a completely unexceptional individual.

As Inge stepped back, Kel's attention was caught by the page stepping forward to take his turn.  He was older than the other pages and tall with it.  He carried himself briskly and confidently, with a humorous little spring to his steps.  Kel was impressed by the offhanded answers the boy gave to the Exam Master.  His tone bordered on cheeky, but his recital was absolutely correct.

Turomot shook his head as the boy finished.  "Not lacking for confidence, at least," the Duke said wryly.

The page smiled.  "Self-assurance is a virtue, Exam Master," he replied blandly.  A brief chuckle rippled through the audience.  Neal grinned.

Kel elbowed her friend again.  "Do you know him?" she asked.

"Of course," Neal began patronizingly, then stopped.  "Oh, that's right.  You weren't here."  He nodded at the boy.  "You'll recognize the name, though.  Alan Cooper of Pirate's Swoop, heir to Barony Olau after his mother."  

Kel let out a quiet gasp before slapping her Yamani face back on.  "The Lioness's son?"

"Yup."  Seeing Kel's face, Neal rolled his eyes with vigor.  "Don't worry, Lady Knight.  I'll introduce you after the exam."

"You'd better," Kel retorted, her eyes never leaving the copper-haired son of the Lioness.

~*~

Alan of Pirate's Swoop proved to be as collected outside the examination room as in it.  He greeted Neal as an old friend and bowed graciously to Kel, deeper than to a Lord but not so deep as to patronize her as a Lady.  

"Sir Nealan's talked about you," Alan said.  As Kel looked askance, he added, "He said you started your pageship late.  I started late too - by three years."  He laughed good-naturedly.  "We've got ourselves a regular little club here."  Kel was charmed in spite of herself.

"We enjoyed your performance up there," Neal said in his best, laziest drawl.  

"I thought you might," Alan said with satisfaction.  "They're a terrible bore, aren't they?"

Kel said, not quite knowing what else to say, "Your mother must be proud of you for answering so well." 

Alan shrugged.  "Not likely," he said humorously.  "Mother's not too big on scholarship."  

"Oh."  Trying to cover up her unnatural blunder, Kel tried to explain.  "It's just that you look so much like her -"

Alan held up a hand, looking comically aggrieved.  "Begging your pardon for my impudence, Lady Knight, but you would not believe how many times a day I get compared to my mother."

While Kel, once again unnaturally for her, struggled for a reply, Alan gave another little gracious bow.  "If you'll excuse me, Sir Nealan, Lady Knight Keladry, I think Sir Myles is calling me."  He nodded to the far side of the room where the King's Spymaster - and Alan's own grandfather, Kel remembered - was waving.  Without another word, the red-haired young man slipped off.

"Something wrong?" Neal asked as Kel stared after Alan with dismay.  She turned back to him and they started filing out of the exam room with the rest of the audience.

"No, not exactly," she began.  "Oh, Neal, I didn't sound *stupid*, did I?"

Nealan chuckled.  "You did, a little."  As Kel squawked in consternation, Neal added, "I know how much you like the Lioness.  But Kel-"

"I know, I know," Kel interrupted him.  "He's not Sir Alanna."  She made a face.  "I'm not *that* stupid, at least."

~*~

The summer passed in a blaze of heat and September followed with its cooling breezes.  The newly-made squires returned to the Palace like chattering sparrows, eager to begin the next phase of their training.  Some, having been approached by knights in the spring, were whisked away immediately for duty.  Others continued with regular palace life, training, serving, learning at lessons, hoping to attract the eye of a potential knight-master.  

One fall afternoon, two weeks before she was due back at the Scanran border, Kel trotted down to the training yard, turning an idea over in her mind.  As she approached the door leading outside, voices from the courtyard made her pause, one hand on the door.

"Looking more like your mother every day, aren't you, Cooper?" said a young man's voice, not at all nicely.  

"Yes, it must be terrible being named after your *mother*," another voice chimed in.  

"It's not so bad," replied an easy voice Kel recognized as Alan's.  "Once you get used to it."   

Somebody spat.  "Maybe *you're* hiding something under that tunic too, eh, Cooper?  How do we know you're not really your bitch of a sister Alianne?"  

"Shove off," Alan's voice said quietly, just a shade less humorously than usual.  

Kel had had enough.  Pushing open the door, she strode into the training yard, drawing up every inch of her six-foot frame.  "Good day, lads," she said, a hint of a warning behind her pleasant words.  She did not like what she saw.  

Alan was surrounded and pushed against a wall.  Typically enough, he was leaning against it almost casually, as if to suggest it was his own idea.  Four other boys were fanned out in front of him, cutting off any escape.  Hearing Kel come out, they looked up and bowed out of confusion.  Alan took the opportunity to push past his taunters and saunter over to her.  "Lady Knight," he said, flashing her the briefest of grateful smiles that the others could not see.    

The other boys hesitated, then, muttering excuses, hurried away inside the Palace.  

Neither Kel nor Alan said anything for a while.  Alan seemed to be bowled over by sheer embarrassment.  Finally Kel, for the sake of saying something, said, "I've been thinking.  I'm heading back to the border in a couple of weeks, and I thought it might be nice to train someone for that sort of life.  So I was wondering if you'd like to be my squire."  She knew she was being kind.  Kel, as a knight, could have simply told the armsmaster her choice without consulting Alan at all - that's how most knights did it.  But Kel hated not knowing, and not giving, all the facts.

Alan was silent for some time.  Then, smiling with his old good humor, he said lightly, "No, I don't think I would like that."

Kel stared, dismayed for the second time by the self-confident boy.

"Sir Nealan's already chosen me, you see," Alan said.  "And besides, you're just as bad as them."  He jerked a thumb towards the far door through which the other boys had made their retreat.  

"What?" Kel said indignantly, as much about Neal's treachery as about Alan's accusation.  "Since when am I as bad as that?"  She put her hands on her hips and glared.  

Alan laughed.  "I don't mean nasty like them," he said, running a hand through his coppery curls.  "But you'd always compare me to Mother.  Everyone does it," he added quickly as Kel opened her mouth to speak.  "But it's worse hearing it from you, because you're her *real* successor."  

Kel let her arms drop again.  "I'm sorry," she said awkwardly.  "I never meant -"

Alan shrugged, all humor gone.  "I'm my mother's son," he said flatly.  "I'm not my mother."

Kel bit her lip.  Maybe she had taken her hero-worship too far.  You'd think you'd have gotten over it by now, she scolded herself.  After meeting the Lioness and everything!  And extending it to a boy four years younger than she was not fair.

"Don't beat yourself up," Alan advised, as if guessing her thoughts.  With a start, Kel looked over and not very much down at him.  The boy was grinning impudently.  "It's better this way, really."

"Why's that?" she asked tartly, half in embarrassment and half in relief.

Alan's grin grew wider.  "Can't flirt with you if you're my Knight-Mistress, can I?"  

Kel gaped, then took a mighty swipe at him.  With a whooping laugh, Alan ducked under her arm and ran.  Kel chased after him, shaking her head and smiling to herself.

_Finis_


	10. Holiday Gift for Hsui

**Holiday Fic for Hsui **by lildododum

For Hsui, who requested Alanna/Jon interaction during PotS, after she comes back to Court.

~*~*~*~

            "Thayet, you wanted something?"

            "Alanna," Thayet got up and hugged her friend; the friend who was seething with rage, "Good to see you again,"

            "Thayet, you gave me an official summons, you want something; what is it?"

"Yes, Alanna; Jon wanted something…" The man in question stared blankly at the book he had been leafing through.  "Jon…" Thayet persisted, making a face.  He stirred.  "Jonathan, talk with your Champion."  Movement, slight, but still there.  Thayet got up, went to the door, whispered something to the guards, and came back.  

            Alanna regarded her with suspicion, "What did you do?"

            "Nothing." They stood there in silence for a bit, and then Thayet left.  There was a solid clunk, then click as the door was barred and locked from the outside.  Alanna muttered curses under her breath.  Jon blinked.

            "Must you always do that?" he asked tiredly.

            They glared at each other, Jon blinked again.  Alanna shuffled her feet, and plopped down on a chair.  "You have no manners, Jon, making me stand."

            _"I _have no manners?"  An incredulous Jon asked.

            "You don't.  Or have you forgotten?"  Alanna sighed inwardly.  "I didn't mean to get all…" she shrugged.

            Jon got up and went to the bookcase.  While placing his book back, he murmured, "Of course, you never mean to start anything."

            Alanna stood up and stalked over to him, "You don't know what it was like, Jon.  Always wanting to meet her, talk with her, just _glance_ at her."

            "It must've been painful," It was a statement, not a question.

            "Yes, excruciatingly so.  She made it, though, without my help; and no thanks to you."

            "No thanks to _me?  _My dear Lioness, I helped her more than you did!  I made her _stronger; _she was able to deal with prejudice better because of my help!"

            "Oh, you mean where you took away her rights?  Where you took away her freedom?  Where you—" Alanna's eyes flickered with anger as Jon's hand covered her mouth, shoving her into the wall.

            "I know I was a bit callous, but she _made it!  _She is one of my knights, and will be a damn good one, if what Wyldon tells me is true!  Do you know what she has done?  Do you have any idea what she has accomplished since her first day?"

            He removed his hand, to some extent, "How could I, Jon?  You banned me from meeting her; remember?  All Raoul told me was 'she is strong'…Do you have any idea how much I wanted to wipe that silly grin off his face?!  But wait, that would mean going near her, wouldn't it?" Alanna caught her breath and Jon took that moment to recover her mouth.

            Silence, nothing but their breathing.  Both glared at each other in silence.  Then, as Alanna was about to knee him in the groin…

A loud bang and snap awoke their attention and they turned to the door.  Two guards—in full armor, swords drawn, battle stance—stood there, one was scanning the floor and the other was looking at them.  "Told you she didn't kill him." They made their exit, barring and locking the door in their wake. 

            "…The hell was that?"  Jon looked around in confusion, as if the answer would magically drop out of the ceiling.

"Was the other one looking for blood, or the King's Bloody Corpse?" Alanna's eyes crinkled in amusement, "Thayet.  It was Thayet."

            Jon ignored the first and raised an eyebrow, "What about my wife?"

            "She probably told them if they didn't hear screaming they should come and save you…"

            "Does that mean I'm weak?" suspicion leaked from his voice.

            "That means you are out of practice." confirmation from hers.

            "Care to try me?" resentment, Jon was getting superior.

            "Care to try Keladry?" arrogance, Alanna wouldn't put up with it.

            "No…" Jon's voice cracked with what sounded like alarm.

            "Good, you won't get hurt." Amusement, trying hard not to laugh; failing.  Jon gazed at her for a moment and turned away.

            Silence dragged on again, punctuated by Alanna's snorts of laughter.  Jon sighed, "Don't want the guards to come in again, now do we?"  Alanna nodded.  "Well, I guess I should say it then; I am sorry for doing that to Keladry, and I'm sorry for doing that to you."

            "I won't accept that apology, Jon.  But, I guess it is a good start."


	11. Holiday Gift for Lady Ava

**Holiday Gift for Lady Ava **by Mystic Knight

For Lady Ava, who requested something with the Conte children

~*~*~*~

Princess Kalasin stared into the crackling fire. It sent warmth throughout the room, and yet she shivered. She heard the door creak open behind her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the fire.

            Someone gently touched her shoulder. She turned her head from her kneeling position on the floor to look up into the sapphire eyes of her older brother Roald. Those eyes were kind, just like always.

"Are you all right, Kally?" he asked, crouching down beside her.

            She nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be? Today is just the day Father and Mother announce my betrothal to Emperor Kaddar. Why wouldn't I be all right?"

            Roald smiled back. "Because I was more nervous than I'd ever been in my life when my betrothal to Shinkokami was announced. And I assumed you'd be the same."

            Kally toyed with the pendant at her throat. She sighed. "Of course you're right. Of course I'm nervous. Kaddar seemed very kind and generous when I met him, and Daine speaks highly of him, but… I just don't know." She stood and began to pace the room, her finely made breeches swishing as she moved. "And once the betrothal is announced, I have to go to Carthak. I have to—" Her throat choked up. "I have to leave, Roald! I have to go be the empress of a country I've grown up hating with someone I barely know and don't love. I don't want to!"

            Roald stood and firmly held his sister's shoulders before she could break something. "Kally," he said gently. "You grew up knowing this would happen. Why are you suddenly fretting over it? You're a princess. You know this is your duty. You knew you'd never get to marry for love. I didn't. But I have grown to love Shinko very much. I know you can do the same with Kaddar."

            "You didn't have to leave your home! You didn't have to leave everyone you loved!" She was sobbing now, the tears ruining her perfectly rouged cheeks. "You're right, I did know this would happen. But that doesn't mean I ever accepted it! This is part of the reason I wanted to be a knight! Then they wouldn't be able to just marry me off!"

            The door opened, and their younger sister Lianne poked her head in. "What's all the…" Her eyes grew wide when she saw Kally's tears. She rushed into the room, making cooing sounds, and stroked Kally's ink black hair. "What's wrong?" She looked at Roald. "I know you didn't do this."

            "I don't want to go," Kally said through her tears. "You're so lucky to not have to go through this yet."

            Lianne gasped softly. "Oh, so that's what this is about."

            "Kally, have you spoken about this with Shinko?" Roald asked. "She also had to leave her home to come marry me and be the future queen of Tortall. I'm sure talking with her would help."

            Kally backed away from both her siblings. "Maybe I will, but not now. I just… I have to be alone." She strode quickly from the room and into the corridor, where she stopped to run a sleeve over her face before anyone saw her. Then she walked purposefully down two flights of stairs and out into one of the courtyards. Everyone knew to leave her alone when she wore that determined expression. So she made it to the most secluded area of the courtyard without any trouble. She sat down, hard, on a bench and breathed deeply.

            "I can do this," she said aloud to herself. "I just need to calm down."

            "You're right," came a voice from behind a rosebush. Out stepped Aly, Kally's younger "cousin", her reddish blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "Do you always come here, or is it just coincidence that I happen to be passing through at the same time you come talking to yourself?"

            Kally couldn't help but smile. Aly always spoke her crazy mind. She was good to talk to when one wanted the truth. "Coincidence," Kally said. "I just needed some time alone."

            Aly sat next to Kally, smoothing her skirts. "Well, time's up. Now you get to talk to me. So what's this thing that you need to calm down to do?" Kally opened her mouth to reply, but Aly held up a hand, silencing her. "No, let me guess. The betrothal. You're nervous."

            Kally sighed. "I had no idea everyone could read me so well."

            "No, it's just that it's pretty obvious," Aly said. She patted Kally's shoulder. "I suppose this is one of those reasons it's not fun to be a princess."

            A grin spread slowly across Kally's face. She poked her "cousin" in the side. "Like you should talk. You're as close as anyone can get to being a princess without actually _being_ one."

            Aly sighed dramatically. "Your childish ways bore me." She stood and moved away. "I have my own, more important things to do just now. But you know," she said, turning back, "if you want to talk, just come find me."

            Kally nodded. "Of course. Be on the lookout."

            The younger girl glided away. Kally sat a while longer, listening to the sounds of the bustling castle preparing for the grand announcement. Kally would need to begin preparing soon herself. She was to be the center of attention tonight. That wouldn't exactly be so bad. It's not like she wasn't used to it. But it was the _reason_ that she wasn't looking forward to. How could anyone celebrate marrying her off? As if they wanted to get rid of her.

            She sniffed quietly and stood. There would be more time later to wallow in self-pity.

            She went back to her original room, only to find Roald and Lianne still there. They turned as she entered and Lianne embraced her.

            "Mother just came by for you," she said. "We told her you were a bit upset, so now she's gone off looking for you again. Would you like me to tell her you're here?"

            Kally nodded. "I don't want her running in circles trying to find me."

            Lianne kissed her cheek and left. Kally sighed and looked at her brother. "Are you going to lecture me now as Father would? 'You need to start acting more like the mature young lady you are,' he'd say."

            Roald smiled. "Have I ever done that?"

Kally admitted he hadn't. She kneeled again by the flickering fire. "I'm sorry. I'm fine now. I should start getting ready."

            Roald sat in a chair. "You know, if you're still upset, you shouldn't bottle it up inside. Just… try to save it for tomorrow. Today is a very important day. You need to put on a brave face and make the conservatives happy. Because you know they're happy you're marrying like a good little princess, and not becoming a knight like you wanted."

            "Of course, which is just another reason Father wouldn't let me try for my knighthood."

            The door opened and Queen Thayet of Tortall came in, stunningly beautiful as always. Her coal black hair was braided and pinned back. When her green hazel eyes saw her daughter, she dropped her regality and rushed to embrace her. "I'm so glad I found you," she said. "Are you all right?"

            Kally nodded, blinking back tears. Being with her mother could so easily make her emotional. "I'm fine," she said quietly. "Do you want me to get ready now?"

            Her mother scanned her face. "If you're willing."

            Kally laughed suddenly. "Mother, you should know by now I'm not some delicate flower. I won't break if you just tell me yes, I should get ready."

            Thayet smiled. "Then yes, you should get ready. I'll help, of course." She turned to her son. "I think Shinkokami wants you, Roald."

            Roald stood. He nodded to his sister and left the room. Thayet turned back to Kally and pulled the girl up from the floor. "The conservatives would just die if you wore those breeches tonight."

            "Then maybe I will. It's not like we'd be losing anyone important," Kally said matter-of-factly.

            Thayet laughed and hooked arms with her daughter. "Emperor Kaddar will love you, sweetie. I'm not sure how anyone couldn't."

            Kally's blue eyes glittered with mirth. "And if he doesn't, I can always run away and come back here. I'm sure you'd welcome me with open arms."

            "Of course," Thayet replied, pulling Kally out of the room. "You'll always be welcome here. Never forget, this is your _home_."__


	12. How Seasons Change

**How Seasons Change** by Laura (AKA Amazon Dreamer)
    
    _A look at Kel and Dom's life together through the years._
    
    For Amanda (AKA Lady of the Lilacs), who requested some pure K/D fluff

~*~*~*~

Keladry of Mindelan, Knight of the Realm sat alone in a snowy courtyard.  A flock of sparrows fluttered about her, pecking the seed she had sprinkled on the ground or eating from her hand.  A heavy woolen cloak protected her from the winter chill.  Jump, who had been dozing beside a snow drift, lazily got to his feet and with an encouraging woof trotted off.  

"Now where could he be going?" Kel mused.  Turning to watch the departing dog Kel gaped to see a familiar form, a burnoose covering the royal blue uniform of the King's Own.  "Dom!" She cried, scattering sparrows and seeds as she clambered to her feet, "You're back!  They said your company would be in the desert till spring!"

"You know me, love," Dom laughed, "Give me snow and ice over sun and sand any day!"

Eagerly Kel rushed into Dom's outstretched arms, "The sun's baked all the sense out of you," Kel replied tartly.  She pressed her nose into the rough fabric of the burnoose smelling the sweet scent that was so uniquely and characteristically Dom she felt tears spring to her eyes.

"But, how… how is this possible?" she asked staring up into his merry blue eyes.

"Call it Midwinter luck, sweetling," Dom shrugged, a decidedly difficult task with his arms wrapped tightly around Kel's waist.

"But..."

"There will be time for talk later Kel, you haven't even kissed me yet.  And I do so hate to beg."

With unrestrained enthusiasm she kissed him, savoring the taste, the _feel_ of his lips. 

"I've missed you so much, Dom," she whispered when they broke the kiss, "I never though it would be possible to miss someone so much."

"There now, sweet, I'm here now.  No need for tears," Tenderly he kissed away the tearstains on her cheeks.

"But… how… you've got a responsibility to the Own… how…"

"Can we talk about it… someplace a little warmer?"  He asked, smiling, "These burnooses are great for the heat of the desert, but…" 

"Oh you're as bad as Neal!" Kel scolded, wrapping her own cloak around him, "I swear I don't know how you manage when I'm not around to look after you!"

~~

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" Kel demanded.

"Because you love him," Lalasa replied, "Now stop squirming!  I need to get this hem straight."

Biting her lip Kel studied her reflection in the mirror.  "Do I look alright?  Will he like it, do you think?"  

"You look fine," Tianine assured her, assisting her lover with the hem, "If you don't calm down, and let us finish you'll be late for your own handfasting!"  

"I just don't know," Kel sighed, running her hands down the full white skirts of her gown, "It's too much, too… too girly, too feminine!  I am still a knight after all!"

"Hush Kel," Yuki soothed, "You're just nervous, it's perfectly normal.  I felt the same way when I married Neal.  It'll pass."

"Yes, I remember," Kel replied, smiling at her friend, "And the gown does look lovely Lalasa.  Thank you, it's just…"

"You're not having second thoughts, are you dearest?"

"Dom!"  Kel cried, spinning to see her lover, "Dom you shouldn't be here!  It's bad fortune for us to see each other before the ceremony!"

"I think the gods will forgive me, just this once," Dom grinned, "You look stunning Kel."

"You do too."  Dom was clad in the royal blue dress uniform of the Kings Own.  Kel's heart twisted painfully as she realized this would be the last time she saw him in uniform.  After the ceremony, Dom would have to resign.  That had been the one sticking point of their engagement.  Kel had argued against the sacrifice Dom would have to make, but the man insisted that it was for the best.  "Dom, I…"

"Hush, sweet," he murmured, stepping close, "I cannot stay long.  I just needed to see you, to remind myself that it's all real."  Tenderly he took her hand in his and brushed his lips across her knuckles.  His loving gaze met hers with unwavering intensity, "I must go," he whispered.  

Dumbly Kel watched as he left the room, "Oh yes, that's why."  She whispered.

"Alright, I'm done here," Lalasa announced.  

Thorn, granddaughter of Crown had been watching the preparations from her perch on Lalasa's pincushion.  As Kel stepped down from the stool she had been standing on, Thorn chirped imperiously.  Dozens of sparrows flew in though the open window, carrying in their beaks a garland woven from the first spring flowers.  At Thorn's direction the sparrows gently lowered it to Kel's head, careful not to muss the ornate arrangement.  

"Thank you Thorn," Kel says, offering her hand for the sparrow to perch on.

"Come on, Kel," Yuki urged, "It's time."

With sparrows spiraling around her, and her friends following behind Kel made her way to the temple.

~~

"Mama!  Papa!  Watch me!"  

"We're watching, Blaire," Dom assured his young daughter.

"She takes after you," Kel murmured to her husband as she watched the girl leap from a rocky outcrop to the sea below.  Shaking her head in amusement Kel returned to the sand fortress she was building with her son Emry.

"But Mama," he protested, "If you put the watch tower there, the guards won't be able to see past that rise," he pointed to a small sand dune.

"Of course, Emry," Kel replied ruffling her son's brown locks, "Where shall we put it, Commander?"

"Hmm," his small brow furrowed as he studied the sandy landscape.

"I'm hungry!" Blaire interrupted, dripping from her recent swim.

"You ruined my village!" Emry shouted, his chubby face contorting into a glower.  

"That was a village?" Blaire scoffed, kicking at the sand beneath her feet.

"HEY!  Stop it!" Emry cried getting to his feet.  His hand curled into a fist.  Wildly the boy swung at his sister.

"Hey now," Kel said calmly, placing a restraining hand on each of her children, "There will be no fighting, or we're all going home."

"But she…"

"There was no need to resort to violence."

"Sorry, Mama," Emry mumbled, hanging his head.

"And you," Kel turned to her daughter, "Should not have provoked him!"

"Sorry, Mama," Blaire sighed, "I didn't mean to."

"You two go wash up; your father and I will get lunch ready."

Watching her children, Kel sighed.  "How far I've come…  I'm accepted as a Knight, and I'm a mother as well…" Slowly she got up, wincing as she stood.  

"Still hurt, love?" Dom asked solicitously, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist.  

"Yeah… yeah it does," Kel admitted, rubbing her left thigh.  That spring she had taken an axe swing across her leg, and despite the best efforts of the healers it pained her still.  Kel had been granted an extended leave of absence, until she regained her strength.  

Dom was taken aback, that was a major concession from Kel, who liked to play down the injury.  'She must really be in pain,' Dom realized.  "Why don't you just sit here, I'll get the food."  Tenderly he placed a kiss upon his wife's brow, "We'll get though this Kel.  Together."

~~

The gray-haired woman knelt before the Black god's alter.  Her broad shoulders shook as she sobbed.  "Why?"  Kel begged, "Why did you take my husband from me?  Why him?  Why now?  We're not so old, we could have had many years together…" sobs consumed her, as she doubled over, prostrating herself before the God of Death.  "Why?  When I am so far from home?  I could… could not even hold him as he…" A high keening wail passed her lips.  Hot tears streamed down her face, and she paid them no heed.  "Dom… Dom.... you can't be gone!  I love you… I can't… you can't leave me.  I need you Dom.  I need you." 

"It's alright Kel.  He's in a better place now," Neal murmured, placing a strong hand on the grieving woman's shoulder.  

"How can you know?  How can you be so sure?"  She demanded angrily, "How do you know what comes after death?"

"I believe… because I have to Kel.  It's the only way to cope.  You'll see, in time.  My cousin was a good man.  He had a good life, and he loved you."

"Gods Neal," she sobbed, "I don't know how I can go on without him."

"You have to Kel, but nobody expects you to be strong right now.  We're here for you Kel, you friends and family… we'll help you get though this.  Come on, your children are waiting to see you."


	13. The Sorcerer's Sleep

**Sorcerer's Sleep **by CityCam

For Reaya, who requested a fic about Duke Roger during his Sorcerer's Sleep

~*~*~*~  
  
Duke Roger of Conte lay in the crypt, cold and unmoving, but all the while, he was smiling to himself smugly. People actually thought he was dead. In reality, he had cast a spell over himself to appear dead while he was actually sleeping. The sleep was all a part of his great plot to take over the throne of Tortall. Well actually, it was his second plot. A puny redheaded knight otherwise known as Alanna had ruined his first plan. His first plan was to collect image dolls of the Royal family. He would strategically place the dolls in such an order that they would waste away or be killed depending on how he treated them. Then he went on to manipulate the minds of the people of the court, presenting himself as a trustworthy man.   
One by one, he trapped the people into his web and managed to trick them into believing his loyalty to the Crown. King Roald and Queen Lianne were easy to fool; they were gullible enough to trust him because he was their relative. Prince Jonathon was not hard either; he looked up to the Duke. The Duke was jealous of Jon. For years, he rejoiced of the fact that the couple was barren only to be let down when the queen gave birth to a whiny brat. He didn't want to wait for the throne; he began plans to kill the royal couple and Jon. That way he would gain the crown as soon as possible.  
He gathered up a group of allies, consisted of disgruntled or power hungry people, and had been close to attaining his goal when Alanna exposed everything. Years of hard work destroyed by one woman who claimed to be chosen by the Great Mother Goddess! Alanna had "killed" him in a duel but she could not simply kill him by poking him with a silly stick. The royal family was alive but he had succeeded in draining the Queen's health at least. She would eventually die, then the King would probably be so grief stricken that he would kill himself. Jon would be left and ascend the throne. All Roger really had left to do was to kill Jon but he had to figure out a new plan before he could do so.  
Since Alanna had destroyed his first plan, he intended to use his time to think of a second plot. He knew his allies would either be captured for treason or pledge loyalty to the king and be pardoned. The King would believe that his allies were no longer a threat since their leader was apparently dead. That was not true, of course. He had worked up their trust over the years and they certainly would not be stopped because he had suddenly died! They wanted power just as much as he did and they would always be truly loyal to him, not the King of Tortall. They would be disheartened at first, but they would eventually begin conspiring against the King once again. He would call them all together and rally them once again when he woke up.   
He had successfully seduced Alanna's brother, Thom, who was possibly the most powerful mage in the world. Thom played an extremely part in his plan. Alanna had been Roger's enemy but Thom was smitten with his power. Her twin had fallen easily into his trap. He had manipulated his mind so that he would not listen to his sister. Thom had the power to make him rise from the dead if he wished. He was always showing off his power and would gladly do a great feat such as raising a dead person cold in the grave. He knew what Thom would possibly do, and he would probably end up wasting his magic in the process.   
Roger would begin to drain away Thom's power for himself to make his own Gift more powerful than it had been before his sleep. He would fake being powerless while rebuilding his resources for the conspiracy. No one would suspect him of anything if people believed he was powerless. At the right moment, when his conspirators and strength were all strong once again, he would strike against the Crown. No one would stop him this time. All he had to do now was wait while he plotted and slept.  
  
~~~  
  
Months later, a dark haired woman and a lanky red headed male both walked into the crypt in which the Duke of Conte rested. He could clearly hear a door close and footsteps advancing towards him. Roger could hear their voices and sense them inside the chamber. His senses tuned into their conversation and listened to what they said. A taunting female voice rang in,  
"What? Master Thom of Trebond is balking now? One of the most powerful mages in the world? Of course, I knew you weren't that good anyway. You couldn't even lift a feather with your power! You're just a little child." A haughty voice retorted,  
"And you could do it, Delia of Eldorne? I'm not balking as you put it; I just need to collect myself before I do a task like this. Now please, stop talking and let me concentrate."  
"Fine, go for it. I'll be sure to tell everyone about your failure afterwards."   
"Be quiet!" Roger internally smirked at himself. He was correct, Thom had arrived in an attempt to raise him from the dead. He was not surprised at Delia's dare. He admired her boldness and persistence. She was one of his favorite accomplices. He felt a force surge through his veins and it enclosed his body in fire. He pulled onto the fire and entwined it with his Gift before Thom finished with the spell. The spell also woke him from the Sorcerer's Sleep so he could now wake up. He opened his eyes to see two young adults standing over him, their faces in shock. His second plan was now in action.


	14. George

**By Ruth, for Mystic Knight**

George rubbed his eyes with a sigh, staring gloomily over the uneven rooftops of Port Caynn.  With all the wishful dreaming he'd had last night, he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Being married to you is a great responsibility.  I need more time to think about it."

_"More time!  Be serious.  After all these years, I'd think your answer is plain."_

_"Not to me."_

_"Stop it Alanna…"_

_"I _refuse _to marry you.  Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conte!"_

He'd heard bits and pieces of their yelling, seen fragments of the fight as it unfolded, felt the tension mount…  It was killing him to have witnessed Alanna's pain, but he couldn't help but feel hopeful.  Perhaps, if she turned away from Jonathan, she would turn toward him…

George slammed his hand on his desk.  It wasn't possible.  He knew that anyone with the Gift was hidden from his Sight, so his dreams had to be just that: dreams.  It was useless to speculate the implications of the non-vision.  The gods knew he had wasted enough time already doing just that.

His stomach rumbled.  Where was Rispah?  He stood up and strode over to the door, slamming it shut behind him.  "Rispah!" he hollered down the stairs.  "I asked for charts of the Merchants' Guild-House t'be sent up with my breakfast –"

"You have visitors, cousin!" he heard Rispah call flippantly.  "Right noble guests, if I'm any judge!"

Noble guests?  It took him but a moment to deduce that the only noble guests he'd be getting would have to be…  Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he dashed down the stairs, pulling Alanna's small frame into his arms.

"And I've been thinkin' you forgot me," he murmured, spinning her around.  He loved the feel of her against his chest.  "Just look at you!" he said, holding her in front of him.  She'd changed so much.  "Tan and fit and wearin' the clothes of a Bazhir –"

He stopped, startled, as Alanna's beautiful purple eyes welled up with tears.  Had he done something wrong?  No, he thought, as she buried her face in his chest.  Someone else had done something wrong, and it had hurt her terribly.

George looked at his cousin meaningfully.  Rispah nodded and led Coram, Alanna's muscular man-at-arms (whom he hadn't even noticed before), out of the room.  He looked down at Alanna's cat, Faithful, who looked back up at him with innocent purple eyes.  "You too.  Scat," he told it, knowing all too well that it wasn't any ordinary household pet.

_She won't tell you anything, you know, _said the cat haughtily.  _Not that there's anything you don't already know, _it added, before leaving the room with a dignified swish of it's midnight tail.  George eyed it suspiciously.

"Will you not?"  George asked Alanna, choosing to ignore the last of what the cat had said, and hoping Alanna would, too.  She was desperately trying to dry her eyes and was sniffling madly.  He handed her a large, well-made handkerchief and held it to her nose.  "Blow," he ordered, letting her clean herself up a bit.

"How long have you been able to understand Faithful?" she managed to ask, after she had dried her eyes.

"I understand him only when he wishes me to," he answered.  "Now, what're you cryin' for?" he asked, determined not to let her change the subject.  "Did somethin' happen while you were in the desert?" he questioned, feeling as though he already knew the answer.

She hesitated.  "Yes," she admitted. "But it had nothing to do with the Bazhir.  _They _treat me with respect," she added angrily.

He felt his eyes widen, as his dream came rushing back to him.  "You had a fight with Jonathan."  He hoped his voice didn't betray too much joy – Alanna needed comfort right now, not another suitor.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"He hinted to me when he was ready t'leave for the South that he was planning t'pop the question," he lied smoothly, anxious to confirm his suspicions.  "Are you tellin' me you refused him?"

"I _really_ don't want to talk about it," she said miserably, and his eyes softened.

"And you shan't," he whispered, pulling her close again.  He hated seeing her like this.  "Come.  Take breakfast with me, and tell me what the Bazhir tribes are like."  His work could wait.  Right now, his lioness needed him.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

_"Prince Jonathan, may I make Princess Josiane known to you?  Josiane is the second daughter of the King of the Copper Isles; she has come to stay with us for a time.  Josiane, my son, Jonathan."_

_"Prince Jonathan.  It is an honor to meet the man who fought so bravely in the Tusaine War."_

_"I was just a boy then, Princess.  Would you care to dance?"_

_"I would love to."_

This time, he knew the dreams were real.  The man who had subtly entered his still-sleeping mind had assured him of that.

"What is this for?" growled George.  "I thought we made a deal: I do your dirty work and you leave me be."

"Now, George, don't get too worked up.  You've helped me out a bit with my work, so I thought I'd simply return the favor," said the Crooked god's voice.

"You – you mean –" stuttered George, anger welling up in his chest.  "You've been foolin' with Alanna's life!"

"No… I've just been hurrying things up a bit.  Alanna and the Prince could never have been able to work out a relationship.  You, on the other hand, are a perfect husband for her."

"Then she doesn't love me at all!" exclaimed George, now thoroughly upset.

"On the contrary," and the insufferable god winked, "she does love you.  She's just in denial.  You only have to place her in a situation where she can come to terms with herself and then…" he jokingly put a hand to his ear.  "Are those wedding bells I hear?"

George opened his mouth, but hesitated, seeing the god's smirk.  He knew, out of experience, that the dishonest god would not be doing him a favor if there wasn't anything in it for him.  George didn't want to be a pawn anymore, but really, what choice did he have?

The god, as if reading his thoughts, flashed him a grin.  "Seize the opportunity," he advised, before vanishing.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

It didn't come as much of a surprise to him when Marek gave his report of the court gossip.  Apparently, this "Josiane" princess had Jonathan wrapped around her little finger.

"She's that beautiful," murmured George, his thoughts presenting himself instead with an image of Alanna.

"One of your tall and shapely blondes.  Queenly, with lips a man would think were on the Goddess herself," elaborated Marek, eyes glazed.

"Ye're certain the Prince returns her regard?" rumbled Coram.  George had invited him to listen in on the conference, seeing as Coram had spent some time in the Prince's company and far more with people who talked of him.  He would, no doubt, have some valuable input.  Besides, Rispah had (rather forcefully) insisted.

"Why, man, he's with her every moment of the day, treatin' her like they was betrothed.  And their Majesties seem to approve.  When Princess Josiane's not with him, she's got her head together with the Queen, plannin' the weddin', doubtless."

George frowned.  If Jonathan was so taken with the woman, why hadn't he proposed?  It felt to him as if this new romance was just a ploy – a ploy of the kind that young men and women use to inspire jealousy in the hearts of their beloveds.

He must have voiced his thoughts aloud because Marek was offering an explanation.  "The betting went from even odds to her favor the day I returned here.  Stefan at the palace stables says she couldn't've laid siege to him better if he was a castle and she the General of all the King's armies.  The minute he returned from that mysterious trip away he had, they was introduced; and he's not left Josiane's side since."

"We'll want to keep this from the lass," said Coram, his voice laced with worry.  "She's been half-crazy since their fight; I don't want to think of what she'd do if she heard this."  George glanced up, alarmed.  He'd just felt Alanna leave his presence.  How could he not have realized that she was listening?  He made a mental note to pay much closer attention to his Sight in the future.

"So much for 'keepin' it from the lass,'" he muttered, standing up.  "Pardon me, but I think our dear knight might need some comfortin' right about now," he said to the two men, and hurriedly left the room.

It didn't take him long to find Alanna.  She was standing on the terrace, looking unsure and forlorn.

"How much did you hear?" he asked, his voice low and serious.  He saw her composing her face, fixing it into a happy smile.

"Hear?  Was I supposed to have heard something?"

He shook his head mentally.  She was a terrible liar.  "Lass, I'm not blind or stupid.  You overheard Coram an' Marek an' me talkin' about Jon's latest conquest."  At the surprised (and slightly guilty) look on her face, he continued.  "I can tell when you're about, did you know that?  It's the only glimpse the Sight gives me of you."

"I forgot you had the Sight."

"When it comes to you or anyone else with the Gift, it's well-nigh useless, since those with the Gift are veiled from those with the Sight.  In any case, it's not as strong with me as it is with my mother.  Still, I can feel you near me, and so I know you were eavesdroppin'."  He paused for a moment.  She seemed to be lost for words.  "Will you tell me _now _what passed between you and Jon in the desert?"  He questioned, deciding that she needed to get it off her chest.

Alanna's composure vanished.  She let him guide her over to a bench, where she collapsed next to him.  "We had a fight," she said softly.  He listened closely as she told him about everything: Jon's proposal, his changing and increasingly aggravating attitude, his assumption that she would go along with his plans, and his comments about her femininity.  "Perhaps I was being falsely proud," she said when she had finished.  "Perhaps it wouldn't have done me any harm to go along with him and not make a fuss about asking me first.  I didn't like the things he was saying, but I didn't want to chase him away, either."

George felt a stab of guilt.  "_It's _your_ fault_," he said silently to the Crooked god.  "You_ provoked this little fight, _you_ hurt Alanna's feelin's, and just so you could return a petty favor t'_me_!"_

_"Go ahead, George, blame it all on me.  But you still have the woman of your dreams in your arms.  Make the most of it."_

George took a shaky breath.  "You're askin' the wrong man." His voice sounded unusually gruff.  Their eyes met, and suddenly he felt very daring.  He pulled her around until she was sitting practically on his lap, her face inches away from his.  "I'm glad he showed you that nobles are a proud, ungrateful lot, thinkin' of no one but themselves."

"I'm a noble."  Her voice sent delightful chills up his spine, and he stared longingly into her eyes.

"No.  You're my own sweet lass, and all the woman I could ever want."  He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers, pulling her body against his.  He could feel her tense up for a moment, and he almost let her go, when she relaxed and returned the kiss with enthusiasm.  Finally, he drew away, unable to take his eyes off her face.  "There's plenty more fish in the sea than Prince Jonathan.  And this particular fish loves you with all his crooked heart."

Her eyes crinkled into a smile and she buried her head in his chest.  "I'm glad," she said frankly.  "I need to be loved right now.  Kiss me again, please."

Her statement caught him off guard.  "Oh, no," he said.  "If I kiss you again right now, one thing will lead to another, and this isn't the proper place for that sort of carryin'-on."

"Then take me to a place that is," she said, insistent.  He hesitated. He was beginning to suspect that Alanna was trying the same trick as Jonathan.  What if she was just using him, as he suspected Jon was using the princess?  As if reading his thoughts, she added, "I know what I'm doing, George.  And it's not just because Jon found someone else.  This should've happened between us a long time ago."

George stood up, nervously clearing his throat.  "Well, then."  A hazy figure that suspiciously resembled the Crooked god appeared behind Alanna and winked at him.  He laughed, all previous feelings of murder aimed at the meddling god dissipating in the moment.  "Come with me, darlin' girl," he said, swinging her into his arms and heading toward his rooms.


End file.
